


The Ewok to Your Wookiee

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthday, Gen, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is proud to be the Ewok to Sam's Wookiee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ewok to Your Wookiee

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to angelgazing for brainstorming and handholding. Written for Sam's birthday. Spoilers through 5.20.

Sam comes out of the shower to an empty motel room. Even now, over a year since Dean came back, Sam's gut still clenches in fear sometimes, but Dean's bed is a mess, comforter and sheets tangled in a lump at the foot, and on the floor next to it, his dirty underwear is draped haphazardly over his duffel. Sam takes a deep breath, and then another one, shoving a hand that doesn't shake through his wet hair.

He gets dressed and packs his stuff. Packs Dean's, too, the way he used to when he tried to help out as a kid. He doesn't want to think about Dean saying yes, walking out and leaving all of this behind. He sits on the edge of the bed, the packed bags at his feet, and doesn't think about all the times in the last year he snuck out to be with Ruby and came back to find Dean in this position. He doesn't think about Dean driving off with Crowley, and every bit of doubt and rage that situation brought up.

He pulls out his phone; Dean will mock him for the next hundred miles if he calls and Dean's out getting coffee or something stupid and innocuous like that, but Sam thinks that sounds better than heaven right now.

He hears the rumble of the car before he can finish dialing, and he lets out a long slow breath in relief.

Dean bursts through the door, all motion and noise, and if Sam ignores the purple smudges under his eyes and the tightness in his shoulders, he could almost pretend it was four years ago, when he was only back to hunting for a weekend, and he still had his (fake) normal life waiting for him in Palo Alto. And that's something else he can't think about right now, the fear twisting his belly changing to guilt.

"You all packed?" Dean asks, clapping his hands. Sam nods, questions about Dean's whereabouts dying on his lips as Dean says, "Then let's go. We're burning daylight."

"Breakfast?" Sam asks, not because he's hungry, but because he knows he should eat.

"Here." Dean shoves a cup of coffee at him. "We'll pick up some food on the way."

They're heading back to Bobby's--he claims he has some new intel, but Sam thinks Dean just wants to go to the closest thing they have to home for a few days before the world ends. They still have to deal with Pestilence and Death, and he's pretty sure Dean thinks the whole things a fool's game. You can't kill Death, after all.

Sam wants to believe Dean's not humoring him, that he's not just going to say yes at the last minute. Sam _has_ to believe it. Of course, Sam hasn't told Dean about his own plan for saying yes. He let it drop with Bobby, but it's something they're going to have to consider, and sooner would be better than later, since later is actually pretty damn soon.

Dean's clearly in a rush, because they're doing eighty-five on the interstate, blowing past smaller, lighter cars like they're going for the checkered flag at Daytona and state troopers aren't even on the radar. Sam lets his mind wander as they drive; there's not a whole lot to look at, just four lanes of blacktop spooling out to the horizon and a steady stream of minivans and SUVs alternating with tiny hybrids receding in their rearview.

He starts counting the Priuses, an old habit from when he was little, though then it was more likely to be blue cars or station wagons or cars with Tennessee plates. His eyes flutter closed somewhere between eight and ten, his light doze accompanied by the roar of the engine and the relentless thrust of Cliff Burton's bass. Neither of them is sleeping much anymore, but Sam's barely skimming the surface of sleep right now, not deep enough to let Lucifer get his hooks in.

Still, he's out of it enough to be startled when the car stops and Dean says, "Come on."

They're at a rest stop--they all look the same to Sam these days, blue plastic benches screwed to white plastic picnic tables like they're all part of the same endless food court, garbage littering the asphalt as truckers and retirees and roadtripping college students hurry to the restrooms and the Starbucks counter.

Dean shoulders through the small crowd and plunks himself down at one of the few tables that looks like it's been cleaned recently. He's got a brown paper bag in his hand, and Sam realizes he's kind of hungry now, nothing but the bad gas station coffee he drank in the car sloshing around in his stomach.

"Hey," Dean says, pulling out a package of Hostess cupcakes and ripping the plastic. He fumbles with something else in the bag, and then there's a large waxy seven stuck in one of the cupcakes.

"What?"

Dean grins up at him and lights the candle. "Happy birthday, Sammy."

"Uh." Sam sits down and blows the candle out; he knows it's useless, but he makes a wish anyway, ignoring the fond (and flirty) looks of the gaggle of gray-haired ladies two tables away. "Seven?"

"We're celebrating the twentieth anniversary of your seventh birthday," Dean says, and Sam doesn't remember much about his seventh birthday, but he's pretty sure Dean was spinning the same sort of bullshit. Sam was still young enough to buy it then.

"I...see." He smiles, though, enjoys the feeling of warmth spreading in his chest. It's been a while.

Dean shrugs. Sam can see the tops of his ears tuning red. "The cupcake's not big enough for two candles."

"There's a second cupcake." Sam wants to slap himself as soon as the words are out. "Forget I said that."

Dean rubs a hand over his mouth thoughtfully. "Since it's your birthday, I guess I can let that go." He takes a bite out of his cupcake. "Man, did these always taste like plastic?" He reaches into his bag and brings out two bottles of water.

Sam laughs. "Yeah. Maybe Twinkies would have been a better choice."

"We can eat Twinkies when the world ends. They're probably the only thing that'll survive." Dean doesn't seem to notice his what he's said, and in the spirit of reciprocity, Sam lets it slide.

"Thanks," he says. He knows it sounds weak, but he means it. He picks at the layer of frosting on the cupcake, peels it back and lays it on the plastic wrap. "If the world is gonna end--and I still think we're gonna save it, but you know, whatever--if this is the end of all things, then I'm glad I'm here with you."

"Isn't that my line, Samwise?"

"Dork."

Dean swallows his mouthful of water. "Dude, you're the one quoting Lord of the Rings at me." Sam refrains from pointing out that Dean recognized the line immediately. Dean laughs. "I'm proud to be the Han Solo to your Chewbacca."

Sam snorts. "More like the Wicket."

"Did you just call me an Ewok?"

"If the shoe fits." Sam grins and takes another bite of his cupcake, the fake vanilla flavor of the cream warm on his tongue. He swallows and says, "Shorty."

"Okay, now I know we're gonna survive the apocalypse," Dean says, "because I am so going to kick your ass for that."

"You and what army?"

Dean raises his fists, mimes throwing a couple of punches. "Thunderbolt and Lightning."

Sam chokes on some cupcake crumbs and has to take a long drink of water. When he's done, he says, "Very, very frightening."

"Dammit, now I'm gonna have that song in my head all day."

Sam grins. "Happy birthday to me."

Dean kicks him under the table. Sam kicks him back, unable to stop smiling. He finishes the cupcake and eyes the layer of icing. It was always his favorite part as a kid, but it does have an unfortunate plastic taste and texture to it. On the other hand, he's hungry, and it _is_ his birthday cake.

On the walk back to the car, Dean sings "Bohemian Rhapsody." Sam knows he's going to regret making the reference two hours from now, when Dean is _still_ singing it, but right now, he's happy enough to sing along.

end

~*~


End file.
